


A Study in Steel

by BlametheCupcake



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlametheCupcake/pseuds/BlametheCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Sword of Martin is stolen from Redwall Abbey, Skipper Lestrade calls in outcast detective Sherlock Holmes. The fox soon gains an unexpected ally in ex-Long Patrol healer John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Steel

"Hm." Sherlock said, examining the hooks with his magnifying glass. He was perched on top of a ladder and was leaning so far forward that Skipper Lestrade was sure he was going to fall at any moment. The otter chieftain sighed and tapped his tail a few times in irritation.

"I can't believe you even let him in here, a fox! He probably stole it himself!" A scruffy shrew huffed in the corner he had been banished to upon the fox's entry into the room.

The fox put his glass back into the pocket of his long black coat before climbing back down and glaring imperiously him. "Really, Anderson, whenever you talk you lower the IQ of the whole abbey."

Before the two could get into a bickering fit the Skipper stepped between the two of them and tried to bring their focus back to the missing sword. "Anderson, knock it off. Sherlock, missing priceless artifact please."

With one last stare at the shrew Sherlock turned back and folded his hands behind his back. "Sword missing roughly sixteen hours, how you've managed to miss it is just proof of how simple- minded you and the rest of this sheltered lot are, and thanks to the paw prints we can narrow it down to a smaller creature. If you look at the floor you'll see no sign of scuff marks so you know it had to be a creature capable of climbing; namely a squirrel. The red hairs in the tapestry will support that."

"A squirrel?" Skipper Lestrade repeated in disbelief.

Anderson snorted in irritation. "So what, you think a dibbuns took it? Because no abbey dweller would steal the Sword of Martin."

"Well while there are numerous flaws in your logic I will only cover the basics in hopes of saving time. First is your belief that location and species are a reflection of character. Secondly you only considered half the abbey's citizens. While many live here there are creatures in the surrounding woodland as well as travelers who frequent the abbey. Any one of them could have grabbed the sword and either left through the gate or be hiding in the abbey, but it’s more likely the former. As for where they went I don't yet have enough data." And with that Sherlock adjusted his dark navy scarf and swept out of the room and passed the otter Sally who was guarding the door.

He walked out onto the lawn and headed for the gate, seemingly ignoring the wary and in some cases hostile looks that were being shot at him. It was when he was just out of the gate and on the road outside of the abbey that he acknowledged the high- pitched voice calling him. With a large sigh he turned and regarded the small mouse maid running after him. While some of the Redwallers ’ attitude towards him was annoying and got in the way of his work, Molly's infatuation with him brought a whole different set of irritations. "Yes? What is it?"

The small mouse maid finally caught up with him and bent over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. "M-Mother Abbess had the gatehouse prepared for you. She thought you would be more comfortable."

"That is acceptable." Sherlock inclined his head and turned his back to the abbey before heading into Mossflower woods.

\------

John leaned heavily on his walking stick as he hobbled along the path that would eventually lead to the legendary Redwall Abbey. While it was usually only a few days fast march from the fortress of Salamandastron to the abbey it had actually taken him a week and a half. Part of that was that the hare was in no particular hurry but the more significant reason was that his leg simply would not tolerate it.

Unlike many of the other hares he had served with, John had not been a native to the mountain. His parents had been border hares which meant they had come from the low lands in the far north. The year after John had been born had brought such a harsh winter that his parents had known they would not survive another year so at the start of spring they had packed up their belongings and took their two children south. To this day he could not recall the harsh journey but he had heard the story so often he could picture it in his mind.

They had settled in Mossflower woods and had spent many happy years there. One day while John and Harry were out picking strawberries for dinner a band of marauding vermin had attacked and looted their home, and they came back to find their parents laying slain. It had been a turning point in both their lives.

Harry had stayed and buried herself in the bottle while John left the next day to join the Long Patrol.

Those years he spent in the Patrol were the happiest of his life. He had always had a deft paw at healing minor scrapes but the healers at the mountain had taught him so much more. They had taken his anger and desire for revenge for his parents and used it in his combat training. Ask any hare and they would tell you that John was the best shot with a bow.

And then had come the fateful day when pirates had attacked the coast and the Long Patrol had been called to action. The fighting had been fierce and many good hares had been lost. John hadn't even been fighting when he had been struck down. He and a few others had been gone out to collect the injured and take them back to safety when they had been ambushed and though help came quickly half his unit had been killed and he had taken a spear through the shoulder.

The cursed blade had been unclean and he had caught a terrible infection. When he had passed out he had been on the beach with the rescue team trying to carry him back to the mountain. But when he had next regained consciousness with any sort of awareness, it was weeks later, and the war was over.

It took a while for him to regain use of his arm but even then he was left with a tremor in his paw as well as a limp in his leg that no one could explain. With his hand the way it was he could no more hold a bow then he could a scalpel which meant he was useless and he knew it. Many hares and even the Badger Marm herself had told him that he did not need to leave and that he always had a place at the mountain, but he could not stand to be dead weight. So they had loaded him a pack stuffed with as much food as he could carry as well as weapons he couldn't use, and he went on his way.

And that was how he found himself tired and paw sore with still another day’ s travel ahead of him. Night had fallen and if he hurried he could probably make it to the abbey in a few hours but his leg hurt and he saw no reason to push on unnecessarily. His food was running low but it would be enough for a light breakfast in the morning and with any luck he would reach the abbey by lunch.

He rolled out his blankets and lay down and stared up at the stars. Once he reached the abbey he could rest for a few days and restock his food, but after that he would press on since he had no intention of burdening them with his maimed self. Traveling it would be until he found some nice little spot he could call home.


End file.
